


the light streams out

by trevino



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s07e22 Chosen, F/M, Gen, Post-Episode: s07e22 Chosen, Shanshu Prophecy, these two deserved better and i'd die on that hill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:20:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29299542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevino/pseuds/trevino
Summary: rarely, if ever, do things go according to plan.orin the final battle, it's not just spike who makes a seemingly-selfish choice. buffy, too, has fought too long to give up the one piece of happiness she's waited so long to find.it turns out, however, that she's caused more than one ripple in the fabric of their lives.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	the light streams out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaggieLaFey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieLaFey/gifts).



> currently re-watching buffy for the (probably) 7th time, with my best friend (hi sarah!) who's on her first watch- we're on season 5, so things are starting to get really good.  
> i've been reading buffy fics (mostly spuffy, if i'm being honest) for a couple months now, and i've been really nervous to write my own for this fandom, so this is a big step for me. i have wanted to write a shanshu-prophecy fic in the btvs universe (rather than solely the ats domain) for a while, and this is where it fits best.
> 
> gifting this work to @MaggieLaFey, because her works have meant a lot to me, and her comments (and replies to my comments!) have filled me with a sense of joy and life in this fandom that i've searched for so long to find. i wish you all the luck in your writings, and though i'm nervous to share my own, it's definitely because of you that i feel like posting is something within my reach.  
> (probably not using the gifting feature right, oh well!)
> 
> (title and bookend quote taken from richard siken's poem "the dislocated room," which definitely deserves a read!)

_ It isn’t you. _

_ You’re falling now. You’re swimming. _

_ This is not harmless. _

_ You are not breathing. _

_ We have not been given all the words necessary. _

_ We have not been given anything at all. _

The Dislocated Room - Richard Siken

The fight against The First Evil is, as predicted, completely unpredictable. There’s no real way to know how to attack something you can’t exactly touch. No matter- there’s still plenty of enemies to battle with. 

Spike can hear the hoarse cries of newly-minted Slayers all around him, discovering the true extent of their powers for the first time; he can feel the energy coursing through the air as a result of Willow’s swirling magic. It’s palpable, in ways he’s never felt before; he missed much of the witch’s exploits of the dark arts last year, but this emits such pure, golden energy it makes his demon shiver. The ground is shaking below his feet, and the Hellmouth beneath them teeters with instability as more and more demons— masses of Turok-Han, scaly-breasted creatures, and some he can’t even begin to describe—pour out of its midst.

Then, at the center of the action, his eyes land on Buffy.

After all, there’s nothing else his eyes would want to see more than her, surrounded by creatures that quickly fall under the weight of her blade. The Scythe, in all its shining glory, looks perfect in her hands; he’s touched by the memory of her words, ascribing its existence to him, only a single night ago. He might not feel worthy of that praise— rarely, if ever, does he feel deserving of Buffy’s neutral acknowledgement of him, much less anything more— but he’s grateful for it all the same, because it means she’s here, fighting the good fight, with more than just a fleeting hope of winning.

He leaps into action, the double-bladed axe held firmly in his grasp as he swings it at the creatures around him. It’s less tactful than his normal fighting style, less of the finesse and lightness he prefers, but his veins course with a frantic energy foreign to him, and he remembers the amulet hanging heavy on his neck. He still has so many questions, and no one’s exactly got the time to stop and give him the answers. 

Buffy notices him next to her, and her slight head tilt in his direction is recognition enough. She’s fighting with an energy he’s rarely seen before, a kind of ferocity that stuck with him after he and Drusilla fled from Angelus’s mansion. It was one of the first things that drew him to her, even as he left Sunnydale in the dust. Her, with a fire burning deep within that no demon could ever stamp out.

And him, alongside her, just lucky to be fighting on her side.

In the two years since Buffy’s death at Glory’s hands, and following her resurrection (Spike’s still uncertain how exactly he feels about both events and how they’ve led them to this point, but he’s trying to absorb the bad with the good in time), she has rarely exhibited this level of intensity. It’s nice, almost, to see her look so alive again, after so many months of her cold emptiness. He knows, too, that he played a hand in her struggles, and he continues to work to correct his role in her period of despair.

Spike moves carefully now, knowing that every step of this fight is carefully calculated. The entire space below Sunnydale High School is invigorated with an unexplainable sense of energy and urgency, as the battle rages on. In his head, he is reminded of his promise to Buffy, on that fateful night before she scaled the tower. He promised to protect Dawn, and the words stuck. He’s a lot of unsavory things, but a liar isn’t one of them, so his efforts here push towards the same goal. This time, he’s less afraid to admit that the promise holds true for Buffy as well, above all else. 

What was it he had said, “to the end of the world”? They’d lived through more than one of those, to each their share in heaven and hell (though his own heaven lived down here on Earth, only steps away). Maybe he had been right, in his own way— maybe this amulet, whatever power it held, would be the end of his world.

And if it saves her, he’ll be content by the thought of his last action being to keep his promise.

He’s all-too-aware of The First’s presence around them, the bitter taste of its energy tainting his tongue after too many weeks as its puppet, its feeble pawn. This time, though, he’s not alone— not as he had been in the cave, his blood supplying the Hellmouth’s seal with energy while sucking out his own— and there’s a chance. A real chance, at winning. 

God, if the Spike of so many years ago could see the creature— no, the  _ man _ — he’s become now, there wouldn’t be a pit of hell deep enough to cast him into.

No matter, though. He’s changed, in immeasurable ways.

His love, though, and the center of all his affections, has remained as stalwart and true as the first time he spied upon her in the Bronze. If anything, she’s grown braver, stronger in the fight.

Above all, she has let him into her life again, in her own way, and there’s not a single thing he wouldn’t give up to ensure that remains.

So, when he sees her stagger to her knees after a particularly nasty gut wound, courtesy of some nameless beast whose head is promptly cut off by her sister-Slayer, Faith, his entire body goes numb.

Because if there’s anything he’s willing to fight for, even more than he did for his own soul, it’s her. 

Spike is at Buffy’s side in an instant, careful not to disturb her wound but desperate to offer whatever support he can. The Scythe, previously held tight in her grasp, is relinquished to Faith. Though he never knew the other Slayer well (save for an awkward body-swapped interaction in the Bronze that he’s loathe to forget), he can read every emotion on her face in an instant.

_ There’s not much time left. _

_ If we’re going to win, we need to do it  _ soon _.  _

He helps Buffy out of the center of the fight, and he feels The First’s echo-y stare once again, this time aimed at the two of them. When it speaks, he does everything he can to ignore it. There are far more important things to worry about than a whispering, intangible demon. (He’d know, after weeks and weeks of barely surviving its torture of him in the school’s basement. It’s pulled nearly all the tricks in its arsenal on him, from appearing as his mother, to Drusilla, to Buffy, and his most hated face of all— his own. There’s not much else it can do to destroy him, at least without a physical form.)

“Love, look at me, I’m here,” he says in hushed tones to Buffy. Her hands are covered in her own blood, and likely that of her fellow Slayers, and he tightens his jaw, trying to ignore the intoxicating smell. The wound’s not as deep as he feared, so it’ll heal quickly, but he knows it’s slowing her down. “We’re almost there, okay? I can feel it.”

“F-feel what?” Buffy utters out, her voice weakened and her form feeling smaller in Spike’s hands than ever.

“The amulet, pet. My  _ soul _ ,” he says with a smile, tainted with a bit of bitter pain at his own words. The jewelry has grown almost heavier around his neck, and call him a ponce or a bleedin’ heart Romantic with a capital R, but he can start to feel a sort of light emanating from within it. Whatever the hell that means.

Buffy’s eyes on him are warm, thoughtful in ways he’s craved for years, but her words are geared solidly in action. “What do we do?”

That’s the age-old question, isn’t it? Dozens of Slayers, ancient vampiric beasts, an all-powerful Wicca casting spells from above, and a shiny bauble around the ensouled vampire’s neck. It’s not altogether stupid to suggest this plan is brash.

Regardless, he attempts a confident gaze at her. Harder, now, that he can see her shell beginning to break, but he’s determined to be the Champion that she needs him to be. 

“Get everyone out, Slayer. Just run, into the light! Get out of here,” he urges, biting back any urge to ask her to stay at his side. It’s likely a suicide mission, and he’d always choose this path to save her, but it still hurts. Hurts just like his soul did, that first night in Lloyd’s cave in Africa.

Hurts, knowing that he finally has everything he’s ever wanted, and in order to ensure she survives, he has to give it all up.

Her face pales, if that was even possible in her fatigued state. “But… you?”

Spike nods at her, hoping that Faith has noticed the seriousness of their hushed conversation against the cave’s wall. This’ll take all of them, and though Willow’s spell has done much to make the Potentials exceed their own, he knows they’ve lost more girls than they had hoped. (Buffy, of course, will mourn every single one.)

Faith reaches them in a moment more, helping Buffy back up to her feet. “B, I’ll get the girls up, Robin has the bus waiting. We can’t last much longer, c’mon!” But Faith, too, knows that this isn’t her moment. She’s felt like an intruder in Sunnydale from the moment she’s arrived, and that’s how it ends too. There’s more than just a hospital bed or cold prison cell waiting for her, and this time, she’s eager to see what lies in the beyond.

So she leaves, and the waves of new Slayers follow closely behind her, each of them desperate to flee the trenches of the ever-opening Hellmouth. Spike can see some of their bodies, lying prone on the floor, and he clenches his eyes shut. Every life lost is one he’ll feel guilty for, because he wants every last moment he can spare with Buffy.

And then, when he opens his eyes, they’re alone.

The Slayers had moved efficiently throughout the cavern, and most of the Turok Han have been defeated, but there are swarms ever-still emerging from the Hellmouth’s core. He and Buffy stand together, his back leaned against the bottom of the stairwell, and for the first time in hours (ever since he first held the amulet), he feels an odd sense of peace.

As if finally, everything is quiet, just for a moment.

….and everything else just fades away. 

Then it’s the sensation of Buffy’s fingers interlocking with his own, and every sense re-dials up to eleven. He’s always been one to risk the flames, to dance from shadow to shadow during a mid-morning sun, but nothing quite feels like fire like her skin against his.

“Buffy,” he says, forcing his eyes to meet her. “You’ve gotta get out of here, pet.”

He expects her to agree, expects her to drop his hand and run towards the exit. That’s what they’re both good at, after all— running away. She did it, first to L.A. and then to Heaven, and he did it too, to Africa in search of his elusive soul.

This time, though, it doesn’t feel like there’ll be a reunion afterwards.

Well, that’s what he expects at least.

Instead, her grip tightens, and he’s taken aback by the tears in her eyes, falling not just for her steadily-healing stomach wound but for the man— a  _ man _ , he is surprised with his own definition, less monster than ever before— in front of him.

“I…” her voice fades off. He wonders, hopes,  _ needs _ to know the words waiting behind her tightly-pressed lips, but in a moment, her spine straightens, and  _ there’s _ the warrior he’s used to seeing. There’s his Buffy, selfish as it may be.

“No, Spike.” she whispers, determinedly. “I’m not leaving!”

“You have to, love. The amulet— it’s the only way!” Spike curses himself for saying it, knowing he wants nothing more than to turn to dust with her by his side. But he made a promise, and if he can’t protect Dawn, then he certainly won’t let Buffy be taken from her as well.

“Spike,” Buffy responds, the word so soft even his honed ears must strain to hear her. There’s something about her voice, now, that makes him burn. It’s not just the amulet.

“I can feel it, Buffy,” Spike says, words tumbling out without hesitation. “My  _ soul _ .”

Even he wasn’t sure what he meant until he said it, but with the words out, he knows it’s true. It’s not just the amulet, no— it’s his soul, hard-earned and well-worn. That’s what’s going to win this war.

But even as he speaks, her eyes urge him to deny it, to give up, in favor of these last moments alongside her. The soul didn’t make him completely selfless, after all, and if there’s one thing his un-beating heart wants above all else, it’s her.

The tears that lined her eyes fall freely now. “No, it’s too soon! I can’t leave you, Spike!”

It’s too late, though. There’s a light emerging from his chest, farther back than the amulet dangling on its chain, and he knows the moment’s run out. It’s over.

At least he’ll go out as a hero. (And what a shock that desire must be inside, after so many years just itching to be bigger and badder than his true sire, Angelus, through a life of inferiority. He never realized quite how much his soul spoke within him, even after all those years of dormancy.)

And, in a flash of trademarked Summers energy, Buffy rips off the amulet from his neck, casts it down into the caverns below, takes his hand once again (and this is the kind of fire he could get used to craving again), and they  _ run _ .

Feet flying across the ground, arms pumping by their sides as the school collapses around them. They dodge countless enemies in their escape, duck through falling door-frames, and notice far too many fallen friends. 

It’s only when Spike and Buffy are outside, still hand in hand and standing in the gleaming sunlight—an uncomfortable contrast to the devastation that lay within— that it dawns on him.

He’s outside.

In the sun.

_ Alive. _


End file.
